


To Build a Home

by shosty



Series: To Build a Home [3]
Category: Avatar: The Last Airbender
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Assassination Attempt(s), Fire Nation Politics (Avatar), Firelord Zuko (Avatar), Gen, Hurt/Comfort, I wrote this and now it’s your problem, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, Iroh (Avatar) is a Good Uncle, Iroh (Avatar) loves Tea, Ozai (Avatar) Being a Terrible Parent, POV Iroh (Avatar), Post-Canon, Post-War, Protective Iroh (Avatar), Regent Firelord Iroh, Zuko (Avatar) Needs a Hug, handwaving canon bc fuck it, he makes so much tea in this fic whoops, iroh loves his nephew. that's it, my dual love affair with italics AND parenthesis, no beta we die like jet, thats the fic, well post canon divergence lmao
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-13
Updated: 2021-02-13
Packaged: 2021-03-13 17:35:06
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,935
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29405613
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/shosty/pseuds/shosty
Summary: Iroh steps up as regent. He takes the five-pronged flame crown from his nephew’s head and says with his heart breaking in two,you need to live.He does not say,I am too selfish to lose you too,and Iroh does not say,I cannot grieve for another son.He should have done it sooner, he thinks, seeing his nephew look so small in the palace infirmary with bandages around his shoulder and bags under his eyes. He should have done it sooner, he thinks, holding his nephew in his arms as heshatters.(Iroh has not always been a good man, and he has not always been a good uncle. This, he thinks, is the first step towards being better.)
Relationships: Iroh & Zuko (Avatar), The Gaang & Zuko (Avatar)
Series: To Build a Home [3]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2130585
Comments: 32
Kudos: 338





	To Build a Home

**Author's Note:**

> okay SO this took a little bit longer than I wanted it to bc AS Levels are kicking my ass. word of advice from ur new chemistry mum??? only do chemistry if you REALLY love moles calculations, bc by god I do, and this week has still one hit KO'ed me :(  
> side note that this will probably NOT make sense without the the rest of this series, but anyways here's the next part as promised!! enjoy <3

Iroh steps up as regent. He takes the five-pronged flame crown from his nephew’s head and says with his heart breaking in two, _you need to live._

He does not say, _I am too selfish to lose you too,_ and Iroh does not say, _I cannot grieve for another son._

He should have done it sooner, he thinks, seeing his nephew look so small in the palace infirmary with bandages around his shoulder and bags under his eyes. He should have done it sooner, he thinks, holding his nephew in his arms as he _shatters_.

(He should have, would have, _could_ have done something sooner, but he didn’t because he was a coward. Iroh had left the throne once for Ozai to destroy his nation; he has left the throne again for Zuko to destroy himself. He stood by and did nothing— that’s all that matters in the end. Iroh has played Pai Sho for more years than he has been an uncle. Once a piece has been moved, there is no going back, no dwelling, only the next move. Iroh cannot change the past, but he can do this now.

It is not enough. It is all he has to offer.

Iroh has not always been a good man, and he has not always been a good uncle. This, he thinks, is the first step towards being better.)

He steps into the Firelord’s office and he _knows_ he should have taken that step much sooner.

Ayumi had warned him that the palace’s cleaning staff had been barred from entering. The room was kept strictly under lock and key all hours of the day, regardless of if Zuko was in or out— and Iroh can see why. The room is _carnage._ He does not use the word lightly.

(Back on the Wani, Zuko had been meticulous for his cleanliness. Cleaning and organising had given him _purpose_ in those long, futile hours at sea. He kept his desk tidy to manage budgets and write his monthly letters back to Caldera, his scrolls organised by relevance to their fruitless search. It had given him control over _something_ , but this—

His heart breaks apart in his chest and Iroh wonders just how much pain he can hold inside of him for his nephew.)

During Azulon’s reign, Iroh could count on both hands the times he stepped into the office. His father had always preferred the drama of the throne room with the tall dais and wall of flames— a trait shared by his second born son— but the office had been _regal_ with tall windows and golden accents on dark furniture. It had been a place of authority and power. Of absolute control.

(Under Ozai, Iroh had stepped into this room with fire crawling up his throat, biting down on raw fury. Fury at himself for letting Zuko into the meeting, at his silence when he looked away as his nephew burned on a stage, at _Ozai_.

 _If your son is to be banished, I will go with him,_ Iroh had hissed.

Ozai’s face had barely twitched. There had been a time before his smile turned cold and cruel. Iroh could no longer remember it, staring at the monster he cannot reconcile with his little brother. _Take the boy and leave then,_ Ozai had said coolly, _you won’t be missed._ )

Now during Zuko’s reign, there are papers _everywhere_ as if a wind spirit has flitted through the room and wreaked havoc. None of them hold state secrets; in truth, they’re the polar opposite _._ Scrolls detailing the economic value of grains, specifics of the education system, one about laws surrounding jackal-sheep ownership. Issues that rightfully _should_ have been deferred to ministers or advisors, not personally overseen by the Firelord.

(But then, Iroh remembers with a growing headache and a pit in his stomach, Zuko’s ministers have been actively trying to get him _assassinated_. If he could not trust them with his life, he could hardly trust them with the Fire Nation and his new, tentative era of peace. His nephew had been surrounded by _vultures_ ; he couldn’t afford to throw them a bone.)

Worse than the papers are the half-finished cups of tea scattered about and the pillow on the floor next to the desk.

( _He has a habit of working late,_ Healer Ayumi had said, lips pursed in an image of quiet disapproval, but Iroh had not expected—

He’d not expected _this._ His heart clenches painfully, and he knows— he _knows_ that he should have done something sooner. But Iroh _hadn’t_ , and that is his burden to bear. Now, he can only move forward. _There is only the next move and the rest of the game_.)

So, he opens the curtains to let in some light. And then opens the windows to breathe some air into the room. _One step at a time._ He sits at the desk and shuffles some of the scrolls into some semblance of order.

Regent Firelord Iroh pulls out a list of ministers and gets to work.

(There is a vindictive pleasure in signing the papers that mark Minister Jiro a traitor to the throne.

A lifetime in the Boiling Rock isn’t _enough_ , but it _is_ a start. Iroh doesn’t want to upset Zuko’s reformations to the justice system with an execution. He has not always been a good man, and feeling the old bubble of bloodlust in his veins, he wonders if he ever truly will be.

He signs the papers with grim satisfaction, knowing that the man who hired assassins, who held flames against his nephew, will never truly know Agni’s light again.

 _It’s a start,_ Iroh tells himself, reviewing the candidates to step into the position.)

\--

There is a far more genuine pleasure in serving tea to the Avatar and his friends in the palace.

He had not expected their arrival—it had been a surprise to both him and Zuko when the bison landed in the courtyard, but not an unpleasant one.

(There’s an unspoken tension between Iroh and his nephew ever since he stepped up as regent; the dynamic has shifted and Zuko hasn’t quite figured out where he stands with Iroh sitting on the throne and attends meetings in his stead. The silence is fraught with _waiting_ for Iroh’s rebuttal, for his disappointment or anger.

It never comes; it never _will_.)

Avatar Aang and his friend arrive and it’s a relief to see his nephew smile again, to hear his laugh, to hear the palace full of _life_ in a way it hasn’t been in years. He catches a glimpse of them through a door cracked open, curled up around each other on a bed of blankets on the floor. Pride sparks in his heart— warm and engulfing— and Iroh finds himself smiling all the way back to the office.

( _You need to live,_ Iroh had told his nephew.

And slowly, Zuko is learning how to.)

\--

“He’s going to Hira'a,” Healer Ayumi tells Iroh over a cup of tea.

She’s not quite at ease with him, always watching out the corner of her eye for any sudden moves, always _waiting_ but ever since the long night they spent by Zuko’s bedside, removing the arrow and then tending his fever, there is something tentative between them. It’s almost friendship. Iroh hopes it will be one day.

In the meantime, they drink tea together. Iroh tries to put her at ease; Ayumi watches and waits for the day he turns into Ozai, just as Zuko does, just as Iroh fears the power will make him. He likes to think his spiritual journey has spared him from becoming a victim of his arrogance once again. It keeps him humble, he thinks, to make tea for another. To remember that he is just as human as she is.

(He has not always a good man, but he is _trying_ to be. This healer held his nephew’s life in her hands, not once, but _twice_. Iroh knows he will carry his gratefulness for the rest of his life.)

Iroh says quietly, “He believes his mother is still alive.”

He does not miss Ayumi’s tiny flinch. In another lifetime, she had been Ursa’s personal physician, Iroh recalls. They had been close.

“I hope she is,” Ayumi exhales, wrapping her hands around her cup. “It’s given him hope. Your Highness.”

(A tentative hope of something that could _still_ be. Zuko’s relationship with Ozai was ruined from the moment his father turned his disapproval on him, cruel and cutting like lightning. His relationship with Azula has always been fraught, and despite his efforts to repair it, she has turned away his visits from the facility again and again and again.)

“I worry what will happen if he doesn’t find her,” Iroh confesses. “It is unfair for him to grieve for her twice.”

“I know,” Ayumi says. There’s something heavier behind her words. She adds softly, in a private confession of her own, “I had— my son was around his age. He always felt things strongly. His grief when his father died was enough.”

“What happened to him?” Iroh asks and Ayumi laughs a short bitter laugh.

“The war,” she says humourlessly, and the stab of pain when he thinks of his own son is a familiar wound. And then, “Ozai. I spoke out of turn.”

(And that is another painful wound. When Iroh looked away as his nephew burned on a stage for no reason other than Ozai’s cruelty and said _nothing_. He will never forget the smell of it, of his nephew burning while he stood there, entirely powerless, entirely helpless.

He still dreams of it to this day. He still carries to guilt of it and he always will.)

“You have that in common with my nephew,” Iroh says sombrely, feeling the old guilt settle heavy in his stomach. Ayumi meets his eyes with a pained expression and he knows that she _understands_ the weight of it. He adds, “My brother has never had much kindness for those around him.”

Ayumi sighs, offering a weak half-smile. “You’re a better man than he ever was,” she says, and then tacks on the end, “Your Highness.”

(And, isn’t that what he’s trying to be? Iroh has not always been a good man, he knows this, but he can be _better_. Every day he makes the choice to be _better._ To _try_.)

“Thank you,” Iroh says sincerely and finds that he means it. Ayumi nods shallowly.

Perhaps they aren’t quite friends, not yet, but Iroh thinks they’re getting closer.

(Later, once the sun has set, Zuko returns, looking like he’s caught in a dream, half-dazed with Toph clinging onto his arm.

“She’s _alive_ ,” Zuko tells him. It’s the most direct he’s been with Iroh since he stepped up as regent. “She’s alive and safe in Hira'a.”

And Iroh fears for the conversations that will have to come between Ursa and her son, but in that moment, he can only be glad. There’s a world of hope in Zuko’s eyes; Iroh will not begrudge him of this.

“I am very glad to hear it, nephew,” he says with warmth and finds that he means that too.)

\--

“My shoulder is healed now, Uncle,” Zuko says abruptly. It is his seventeenth birthday and Iroh has taken a break from his work to celebrate the occasion with his nephew. “I’m fully recovered.”

There’s something more to that, something that Iroh is _missing_ that he can't quite put his finger on. “Yes,” he says, nodding as he pours the tea, “Master Katara did a wonderful job healing it.”

“So, you don’t need to be regent anymore.”

_Oh._

Iroh’s hands jerk, the teapot knocking against the cup and spilling tea down the side. Zuko flinches, his shoulders tensing, and all Iroh wants is to wrap in his arms again and hold him for as long as it takes to convince him that he will never turn a hand on him, not like Ozai.

“Do you not want me to be?” he says, giving his nephew a level look.

Zuko stares resolutely at the amber liquid in his cup, half curled around it. “It’s just—” he starts, and then begins again, “I’m healed now. You were only meant to be regent until I was recovered, Uncle and I’m— I’m better now. You don’t even _want_ the crown.”

There is an underlying accusation there, something panicked and desperate rearing its head in Zuko and _oh._

(In another lifetime, Iroh had been an idealistic general, a bloodthirsty prince, a foolish, _foolish_ man who had looked upon the destruction of Sozin and Azulon and saw _greatness_ in the ashes left behind. He has grown up a lot since those days. He has not always been a good man and for that, he will be remembered.

In this one, he does not want the crown, does not want a nation at his fingertips, does not want power but he will bear it. For his nephew’s sake, he will bear it every day.)

“Zuko,” Iroh says, even though it feels as if his heart is breaking. “Oh, Zuko.”

He reaches across the table to grasp his nephew’s wrist gently. Iroh says, “You are _seventeen_ , nephew, and I will not ask you to bear the weight of nation, not again. The crown is _yours_ when you are ready to take it, but I will not rush you. I will wear it with pride every day until you _chose_ to take it again.”

“But—” Zuko protests, his fingers tightening around the cup.

“But nothing, nephew,” Iroh says firmly, “There is no weakness in stepping back, in truly recovering from the war. You still have your life to live. There is a whole world out there for you to experience freely. The crown can wait until you are ready for it.”

“Okay,” his nephew says quietly. His voice wavers slightly, “Okay.”

Iroh takes his nephew into his arms, holding him as close until tentative arms wrap back around him. He says gently, “The crown can wait. You need to _live_ , nephew.”

“Okay,” Zuko says again and this time he sounds like he believes it.

\--

The Earth Kingdom ambassadors arrive two days after Zuko’s birthday, a parade of green through the palace’s doors, and Iroh has been waiting for _this_.

(He had read the letters send by the Earth Kingdom, read their outlines for treaties and peace terms and known _rage._ The terms are mockery, a deliberate slight to Zuko, demanding what cannot be given.

They would never have dared with any other Firelord, with Ozai _,_ with _him_. Iroh has not always been a good man, and today that plays into his favour. These men fear the Dragon of the West, and the dragon is who they will _receive_.)

“Gentlemen,” Iroh says pleasantly to the gathering in the council room. His mouth smiles; his eyes don’t. It’s a too sharp expression for Mushi the tea server or Iroh, the uncle. It’s a hint of the dragon unfurling its wings, and the Earth Kingdom dignitaries _blanch_. “Please take a seat.”

The Earth Kingdom dignitaries do not scramble to their seats, but stand frozen, staring at him. One man turns an interesting and rather impressive shade of purple as his face contorts in rage. “Forgive us, General Iroh,” another says, his voice an octave too high, “We were expecting Firelord Zuko.”

“Regent Firelord Iroh,” he corrects mildly, and the man’s eyes widen further. “The current Firelord is indisposed.”

The purple faced man— Ambassador Chen, he believes— snaps, “Then we should have been informed of the change prior to our arrival. How exactly is the Firelord _indisposed_? There was no agreement made to work with the Dragon of the West."

Iroh’s smiles sharpens. “The details are not your business, Ambassador Chen. I am acting on behalf of Firelord Zuko, my wishes are _his._ ” There is another collective wince at the hostility in his tone, and Iroh continues, “Shall we begin?”

The men take their seats, trading panicked glances with each other. Iroh unfurls a messenger scroll on the table. They grow a few shades paler as the glance at the calligraphy. There is a vindictive pleasure in watching them _squirm._

“Now,” he says, his tone amiable, “I am rather _interested_ in the terms of this reparation treaty you have drafted. You desire a 10% cut of Fire Nation land.” They stare at him with wide, terrified eyes and Iroh smiles, baring his teeth. “I would like to know more about that.”

(They fear the Dragon of the West and while Iroh does not dispute their claims for reparations, does not dispute their suffering, he will not let the terms insult his nation. If the dragon is enough to force a compromise, he will play the role once again. For his nephew’s sake.)

\--

In a half-forgotten cell, Ozai waits for the day his son will be forced to turn to him for advice.

The day never comes.

Without his spark, without his crown, without someone to sink his claws into, Ozai _rots._

\--

When Iroh stepped up as regent, he told his nephew that he would wear the crown every day until he chose to take it again. It is not enough, but—

Iroh watches as his nephew heals and recovers from a lifetime of war and he thinks that one day it might be. He watches as Zuko smiles and laughs and _blossoms_ and wonders how he can hold some much pride within his heart for the man Zuko is becoming, day by day.

He had told his nephew, _you need to live._

And Zuko did.

**Author's Note:**

> okay but writing Iroh's POV is Hard and I tried my best lmao. I think this is probably going to be the last part of this series?? unless I end up writing some more for Ursa and Ayumi lmao, SO I just want to say thank you so much to everyone who has read, commented and left kudos on these fics because holy shit, you guys are amazing and you've made me so, so ridiculously happy <3
> 
> also!! I'm on tumblr now!! come find me at npcshosty :3
> 
> thanks for reading!! <3


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